


Lilac Wine

by HannahJane



Series: The Hand of the Goddess [8]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Fusion, Gen, Irish Mythology - Freeform, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahJane/pseuds/HannahJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Farley's summoning puts Morgan on a crash course with her past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lilac Wine

It was a testament to the exhaustion that the _tywysog_ must have felt that he didn't wake when she came into his room, breaking half a dozen wards and setting off magical alarms left and right. With an irritated flick of her hand, Morgan silenced them, blanketing the room in silence, a blessed relief for the pounding in her temples. Undoubtedly, someone somewhere had been alerted by that – one of the outwardly-beautiful hexenbeist with their undying loyalty and true-Hag appearance – but she did not intend to be there when his guards arrived. This was a brief visit, to quell her own curiosity, necessary after her meeting with Farley Kolt.

 

The thought of a _Wesen_ calling her, _summoning_ her made her lip curl in disgust and she almost regretted not giving into the _steinadler's_ request to end his life right then and there. Instead, she'd left him puking on his knees in some dirty bar and had gone straight to Nick… a mistake, as it turned out.

 

The Coins of Zakynthos were still capable of making her ill, something she'd discovered the minute she'd appeared at Nick's side. Morgan had been driven to her knees by the myriad of voices echoing round and round in her head, calling, imploring, begging her to take them in, consume them. Struggling to fight off the desire, the sudden craving in the back of her throat, she'd taken just enough time to gently sift through Nick's memories, to learn why he was in possession of such a powerful artifact, and then she'd left, unusually shaken. Magic from other pantheons did not mix well.

 

So now, she stood at the foot of Sean Renard's bed while her head throbbed, caught between annoyance and something that may have been affection. She watched the protectorate of the territory sleep, looking so very much human and less like the fierce warrior that she knew he was. Bare-chested, laying on his side with the blankets drawn almost to his chin, he was a far cry from the powerfully domineering man who had knelt at her feet four months ago, pledging to protect her Grimm.

 

"Clearly Nicholas is not the only one in need of protecting, _tywysog_." Morgan murmured, moving around the bed. Sean didn't stir as she settled on the mattress next to him. In sleep, his face looked younger but no less regal. This was a man who carried his monarchy about him like a physical presence, who never ceased to be in command. She stretched out a hand, her fingers hovering over his shoulder, moving up slowly, carefully, until she cupped his jaw, smoothing her thumb across his cheek.

 

"You are truly frustrating, _tywysog_." Morgan leaned down until their faces were inches apart. "I do not handle frustration well. Even the patience of a goddess has limits." As if sensing her tone, he stirred, turning his face into her touch. Something – that previously unproven affection probably – stirred in her chest and with a sigh, Morgan leaned back, but didn't remove her hand. Her head continued to ache, the coins trying to cling to her, draw her back to them. She desperately needed to retire, back to the otherworld, wrap herself in its gentle energy, clean away the filthy vestiges of Greek murder-magick. That was becoming harder to do, to slip between the boundaries without alerting enemies on both sides to her presence.

 

"You're stretching yourself too thin, _bran_ ; the Coins should not be having this effect on you." The new voice sent her spinning around, leaping off the bed in an almost exaggerated overreaction. Still, despite her best efforts, she was not fast enough to avoid the grasp of the fair-haired man who had appeared behind her. With a speed that was legendary even in the _Tuatha dé Dannan_ , Lugh pinned her against the bedroom wall, using his body to trap hers. Of course he was right, the Coins had sapped her more easily than they should have. If she had spent less time in the human world watching over her charges and more time in the otherworld, she would have been immune to them and she wouldn't have found herself in her current predicament.

 

"Hello, my little _bran_." It was shaming, the easy way he pinned her with only one hand, using a finger of his free hand to reach out and tweak her nose. She scowled, trying to struggle away, but he might as well have been made of marble, for all the good it did.

 

"Go to hell," Morgan snarled, straining against his grip. He rolled his eyes, expressive and sky-blue - exactly the way she remembered even though she had not seen him in centuries – and tweaked her nose again. She tried to bite him and earned herself a slap that rocked her head back on her shoulders. It hurt far more than it should have.

 

"Is that any way to talk to your brother?" he asked and Morgan met his gaze dead on, feeling blood seep from her cut lip. If she was showing damage this easily, she was far from all right. A quick glance assured her that Sean was still asleep, his brow furrowed as if he sensed the danger in the room.

 

"I don't have a brother." She growled. Lugh looked like he wanted to slap her again, but he settled for simply tossing her away as if she were nothing. Morgan fell with the motion, tucking into a summersault and then springing to her feet like an acrobat. However, the sudden wave of dizziness that hit as she straightened dropped her back to her knees, ruining the appearance of strength. She wanted to curse the Coins, to blame them, but in reality, she knew it was her own recklessness that had made her weak.

 

"Now, that is just pathetic." Even though her head spun, Morgan looked up, finding Lugh leaning against the dresser, arms folded across his chest. To a human eye, he looked like the very epitome of a surf bum with his shoulder length white-blonde hair and tanned skin. He even dressed to type in holey well-worn jeans and a white Henley that made his eyes seem to glow, although that was the result of his power seeping through. She made a rude gesture that one of her charges seemed to favor as his sole means of communication when dealing with her and Lugh rolled his eyes.

 

"Truly pathetic." His words were harsh, but his face reflected none of the rancor in his tone. His eyes were warm, at odds with the earlier slap he'd given her. "To the humans, you must seem all-powerful, but I can see how weak you are, Mórrígan. How living in this world has made you less, a fallen goddess."

 

"What do you want, Lugh?" Morgan asked, not even bothering to keep the exhaustion out of her voice or to rise off her knees. She hadn't been able to hide anything from him man even when she had been at full power.

 

"To understand your obsession with these beings." He replied, pushing off the dresser, taking a step closer to the bed and the man on it. This time, Morgan surged to her feet, hand going to the knife at the small of her back, moving swiftly to place herself between the sleeping _tywysog_ and Lugh, the latter looking down on her with a half-smile.

 

"I'm not going to hurt him." He said, reaching down and wiping at the blood that had spilled from her lip, smearing it across her chin. Morgan jerked her head back, away from the touch and glared at him.

 

"Forgive me if I do not believe you, Lugh. I have difficulty trusting any member of the  _Tuatha Dé Dannan_." He lifted his hands as if in mock-surrender and took several very pointed steps backwards until he was across the room, standing by the closed doors to the balcony. As a sign of good will, she took her hand off the hilt of her knife and settled on the edge of the bed next to Sean.

 

"You seem to forget that you are _Tuatha Dé Dannan_ as well, Mórrígan." Lugh said, his hands going to his hips, adopting a paternal expression as he stared at her.

 

"I forget nothing, Lugh." She glanced down at Sean, knew now that his sleep was not natural. Lugh was glamouring him and for that she glared at him.

 

"He does not need to be privy to this conversation. This is a family matter." Lugh straightened his shoulders, still paternal and controlling. Morgan bristled.

 

"I have no family," she spat, pushing to her feet, anger surging in place of energy. Lugh didn't move as she stalked over to him. "You are _not_ family. You are enemy. You are the antithesis of everything I work for." He did not tense as she lifted one hand to return the slap from earlier, but somehow between her words and the blow, his hand flew up, capturing her wrist in a bruising grip.

 

"You have always had a flair for the dramatic, Mórrígan." He said, squeezing her wrist so that the bones ground together, sending pain shooting all the way up into her shoulder. "But I did not come here to argue semantics with you. I am not here as a member of the _Tuatha Dé Dannan_ nor as your brother. I am here simply as a magically-sympathetic party." Morgan gritted her teeth against the pain and waited, knowing he would release her once he had said his piece.

 

"You're killing yourself for them." Lugh jerked his head in the direction of the bed. "Killing yourself for insignificant little creatures who don't even know you exist. A goddess without power is no longer a goddess, little _bran_." He released her wrist, but she didn't step back, refusing to show him fear or retreat. Her wrist throbbed in time with her head.

 

"I do not care about your tumultuous history with our pantheon, I do not care that you have abandoned us for mortals. I ask only that you care for yourself," tender words, words that brought to mind the way that they had last parted, bloodied and swearing death on the other. Morgan arched an eyebrow at him, knowing he was remembering the same.

 

"Still stubborn," Lugh said with a sigh, his paternal expression gone, vanishing behind the cockiness of his usual smile. "Well, I have said all that I intended, sister. I suppose asking you to return to the otherworld with me will be pointless." He extended a hand as he spoke, that one gesture imploring her more than his words ever would.

 

Her head ached, her body felt unnaturally flimsy as if it could break in two at any moment, and the bleeding from her lip had yet to cease. She yearned for the cool embrace of the otherworld, for the healing magic in its rain and the peaceful quiet of its wind. Then the man behind her on the bed stirred, making a sound deep in his throat and she folded her arms across her chest, lifting her chin and meeting Lugh's gaze solidly. She tried to tell herself that regret was not the emotion that flittered across the other god's face.

 

"I thought not." Lugh said and retracted his hand. Morgan squared her shoulders as he stepped close and put both of his hands around her neck, the gesture affectionate instead of threatening.

 

"Take care of yourself, little _bran_." He stroked the skin just under her ears with his thumbs and then leaned in, ghosting his lips across her forehead. She made no movement, did not lean into the touch, giving neither her blessing nor condemning and as she watched Lugh faded away before her eyes.

 

Morgan stood there silently for a few moments, staring out through the glass doors of the balcony, watching the stars appear in the darkness, blossoming across the sky. Sean stirred again, rolling over, rustling the silk sheets and she turned back to the bed. His brow was still furrowed as she once again sank down beside him and she reached out, gently soothing the wrinkled skin with her fingers until it was once again smooth. His breathing was slow and steady, in and out, and she knew that the power of the Coins was fading. The sound of a key scraping in the lock drew her attention to the bedroom door and Morgan grimaced. Her visit was about to be cut short.

 

"Till we meet again, _tywysog_." Morgan said, bending low and brushing her lips across his forehead much as Lugh had just done. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, suggesting wakefulness and she wished she could stay, sing him back into the depths of unconsciousness, but the hexenbeist was coming and hiding herself would take energy that she was not sure she could muster.

 

By the time that the bedroom door edged open and Adalind Schade carefully slipped inside, peering around, the only hint that Morgan had been there was a solitary drop of blood on the carpet before the balcony doors, so very red against the white.

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary:
> 
> Bran- welsh word for raven  
> Tywysog- Welsh word for prince
> 
> **
> 
> The title is the name of a song by James Shelton.


End file.
